


Missing connections

by holhorsinaround



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: reconnecting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-07
Updated: 2019-01-07
Packaged: 2019-10-06 06:38:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17340431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/holhorsinaround/pseuds/holhorsinaround
Summary: Re-establishing old connections can be hard but sometimes worth it.





	Missing connections

Alar arrived home for a brief reprieve between travelling back and forth for work with a sigh and an intense bout of homesickness. He had missed Ratchet, and it had been nearly three weeks since he had last been home. His inn room was unchanged– bed still messy and unmade from the morning before leaving for Stormwind, dirty clothes strewn about as though he had attempted to toss them into his hamper but missed.

Tank Girl had missed him and bounded up to him as soon as he stepped up the hill toward the inn, then followed him inside to his room. She now made herself happy and comfortable on his pillow, snoozing away. It had been… a very long couple of weeks, actually. First, his vacation to Darnassus with Leora which ended with the world tree in flames; he’d stayed far longer than necessary, rescuing survivors and helping refugees get to the mages that were porting everybody to safety. He’d parted with Leora, ensuring his safety, but knowing– desperately knowing– that his work hadn’t been finished and that he had to travel down south.

Then was Darkshore, and the research he’d been doing on Azerite that was cut short by Windrunner. That same day that Teldrassil burned, he’d run into Cuan, alone and abandoned, and running fearfully through the  burning ruins of the forests and towns. It had hurt to see him this way, see him so lost and on his last legs. He’d helped him, too, and thank the Light that things had gone much smoother than they could have.

Then, that same very night… back down further south, finding himself in Tanaris with The Adventurer’s Society, interrupting the very same resource that he’d been studying that very week. Azerite had been abused; there were far better uses for the mineral in his opinion, but Windrunner had abused its power, and even if he understood why (he knew what war was, he knew how war moved, how it evolved, adapted), he felt bitter resent. The Orc and her team hadn’t stood a chance, and he’d felt better about his own… vengeance? Even if he felt disdain toward himself, still. He was moving past that.

And then… so it goes. No rest for the weary, the Battle for Lordaeron had come upon them, with Anduin requesting his aid specificially. And not just his, but Jadearra’s too. He’d respected their expertise in war machines, and even if plans did not go as they had written out on paper and spoken in meetings, it went far better than it could have. He’d returned to Stormwind, thankful to the Light and Bethekk and every wild god in existence that he hadn’t died. The Blight, of all things, the Blight…

It wasn’t all bad, though. Not every moment of the last two weeks, three weeks even, were bad. No, in fact, quite a few were so good and so healing. So grounding and so able to remind him what mattered, what did not, and what and who he was truly fighting for. Words could not be enough to thank Cuan, Jadearra, and Leora when he felt so low.

Who’d have thought that– despite having aligned himself outside of Horde sanctions for nearing on ten years by this point– he’d have felt so guilty? And… so responsible.

But now that he was home, standing alone in his room with the lights off, he felt at peace. He felt at peace until his eyes strayed toward the pictures and posters hanging on his wall. There, a framed image of himself, Chief Thunder-Skins, and a Sindorei dressed much in the same way as he, hung on his wall beside an Elite Tauren Chieftains poster. He walked over to it, fingers tracing the frame as a warm but raw sadness fell over him.

He leaned his forehead against the wall and closed his eyes, nose and tusks tipping against the picture frame. He’d been in Silvermoon the night before, in fact that’s where he’d just came from on his journey back to Stormwind.

He’d been… very close to stopping by, seeing Tyrestra while he was visiting Linaire and checking in with the injured Nightborne woman. And yet, somehow, despite knowing how everything had happened over the last few weeks– the siege, Teldrassil, azerite campaigns…

He couldn’t bring himself to do it. And he hated that about himself.

He had even went so far as to step toward her street, adamant that he was going to go knock on her door, but had turned around at the last second in a flurry of curses and hands in his hair, much to the shock of a number of nearby elves.

Staring at Tyrestra in the single picture he had of her still… it hurt. It reminded him of how scared, how cowardly deep down he was. Not even deep down– this was surface level cowardice.

He knew the war was coming, knew that there were worse things that were going to happen. He didn’t know if Tyrestra was even going to be involved; in fact, he feared that she would.

Moreso, he was so scared he wouldn’t get to see her again, what with his own new line of work. He knew he was about to be sent back out, sent to who knows where.

He drew his left hand up to the picture frame and traced a small shape absently around Tyrestra’s face, lips parting just barely to let out a shaking sigh.

The bedroom was still dark when he moved away, fingers lingering for a few seconds too long against the glass. He sat himself down at the table near his window, where his cactus was somehow still thriving despite being left ignored for three weeks (really, the only way he could keep a plant alive these days anyway).

He pulled out a drafting pen and paper, eyes tracing over the blue gridlines of his draft notebook, and began penning down a few words. The letter grew and grew in length, but perhaps the most important was thus:

_I have missed you, there’s so much to tell you. May I meet with you again?_

**Author's Note:**

> Another old piece from earlier in 2018, near summer just before BFA launched. Written as a starting prompt for one of Alar's old partners and best friends, Tyrestra, and her player.


End file.
